


Redirect

by unsettled



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Accidents, Awkward Sex, Banter, Clumsiness, Embarrassment, Floor Sex, Fluff and Smut, Fluffuary, M/M, POV Quentin Beck, sticky spider hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29335578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: The bite gave Peter a ridiculously short refractory period, very sticky hands and feet, and excellent sense of balance.None of which save him.(Prompt: Oops during sex)
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28
Collections: Fluffuary 2021





	Redirect

They’ve been making out for ages, things slowly heating up until they’re curled up on their sides, pressed together, rocking against each other. It’s hot and nice but ultimately unsatisfying, with the lack of proper friction and pressure.

Quentin wants a lot more.

He rolls over onto his back, tugging Peter with him; Peter ends up sprawled half on top of him, groaning as his dick drags against Quentin’s skin. “Come on, baby,” Quentin says. “Up, I want to watch you ride my cock. Wanna see you get off from it.”

Peter pushes himself up, grinning, fucking gorgeous like this as he swings his leg over Quentin. Settles for a second, slowly rubbing his dick alongside Quentin’s, and then leans forward, one hand hitting the bed by Quentin’s head, Peter looming over him. 

The other—

The other hand lands on the bed near Quentin’s head too, only— well, Quentin hasn’t realized quite how close to the edge of the bed they’d gotten. Apparently, neither has Peter, because his hand hits the edge of the bed, the cover shifting and sending him lurching forward, all balance lost as his hand flails out into open air.

He squeaks, eyes going wide, and jerks, trying to correct it; Quentin grabs at him just as Peter’s leg slides over as well, and Peter lands on him for a second before he’s rolling right off the bed, Quentin’s hands grasping uselessly at the air. 

There’s a thud.

Quentin stares at the ceiling for a second, still too startled and fuzzy headed to think. Shoves himself up a moment later, sitting and staring down at Peter. Poor Peter, who’s staring up at him just as startled, sheets caught in one hand. “Ow?” he says.

“Shit, Peter, are you okay?”

“Uh,” Peter says. “I— yes? I guess? I’m just— what even happened, how—”

Quentin frowns. “Are you sure about that?” he says. “Because you sound like your brain got knocked around.”

“Hey, I didn’t hit that hard,” Peter says. He shifts, winces. Loosens his hand in the sheets he’d pulled down with him, and then… shakes his hand, the sheets not falling away. “Are you kidding me?”

“What?”

Peter’s bright, bright red and won’t look at him. “Nothing,” he mutters. “I’m just. Gimme a second.” Sighs. “All the seconds, I guess, wow. Way to ruin things. Sorry.” He shakes his hand again; it looks like he managed to get his hand stickied to them and can’t make it stop. It happens sometimes, and it’s generally pretty funny. 

Peter’s not laughing. 

“Oh, honey,” Quentin says. “You didn’t ruin anything. Take all the seconds you need; I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Yeah, but—” 

Okay, maybe it did drag things down a little, but it didn’t completely kill the mood, and Quentin can fix that. What’s far worse is Peter’s defeated little slump, the embarrassment just radiating off him. 

Quentin rolls the rest of the way to the edge of the bed and swings his legs over, watching so he doesn’t hit Peter and just make everything worse. Goes down to his knees over Peter, copying Peter’s move and looming over him. “Trust me,” he tells Peter. “It’s all fixable.” Smiles, slow and a little smug. “I can fuck you anywhere, baby.”

He gets a little huff of laughter for that. “But do we really want to on the floor?” Peter says. “I’m not saying you can’t, just like… is it worth it? Won’t it be really uncomfortable?” He’s still flexing his hand, trying to get the sheet free; Quentin grabs the fabric and pulls, Peter’s hand just coming along with it. Peter glances over and blushes even deeper. 

“Is it worth it,” Quentin says. “Honestly. Is there any sex with me that hasn’t been worth it?” Peter sticks out his tongue; cute. He ducks down and kisses Peter. 

“Like I can’t completely make you forget about being uncomfortable,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Peter says, soft, the way he tends to get just before he shoots Quentin a teasing little look, a tiny challenge to answer. “But— I’m just looking out for you, don’t want you to end up aching.”

“Don’t want to listen to me bitch about my knees is more like it.”

Peter twitches, barely holding back laughter. “Nooo,” he says, “of course that’s not it.”

Quentin twists the fabric in his hand, still stuck to Peter. Wraps it around Peter’s wrist, and again, yanking more of the sheet down with them before he drags Peter’s arm above his head. “I’ll be fine,” Quentin says. “It’s not like you can’t make me completely forget about any discomfort just as easily.” 

“Oh, I can?” Peter says softly.

“Like you don’t know it,” Quentin says. “Like you don’t do it, constantly. Jesus, Peter.” He leans closer, pulls Peter’s arm a little higher just to feel Peter arch under him. “Fishing for compliments, baby?”

“Would it work if I was?” Peter blinks, almost batting his eyelashes. “I can pay you back.”

Silly, silly Peter. “It’s already working,” Quentin tells him. 

And he’ll compliment Peter for free.


End file.
